


Public Displays of Knitting

by Gypsymoon77



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Knitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gypsymoon77/pseuds/Gypsymoon77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Aziraphale discover the hazards of knitting in public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Displays of Knitting

“You're knitting.”

_Click-clack._

“Mmmhmm.”

_Click-clack_

“In public.”

Crowley let out a little exasperated noise and looked over at Aziraphale. “And what of it, angel?”

The angel glanced around at the other occupants of Hyde Park. No one seemed to take particular notice of the two men, well, man-shaped beings, sitting together of the park bench – one tossing bread crumbs to greedy water fowl and other one honest-to-G...well, knitting. London really had become progressive.

“What if one of your people see you? I mean...it's not exactly an unholy activity, is it?” persisted the angel.

“Well, it's not exactly a holy one though either,” mimicked the demon. “And I have your feathers all ruffled, so I must be doing something right. Or wrong. I think you're more worried that one of _your_ people will see you with me while I'm _knitting_.”

Aziraphale made a funny little sputtering noise that Crowley assumed was a sound of protestation.

“But what if it's oh..I don't know... _Hastur_...”

“Then I'll stab him with a knitting needle,” replied Crowley jovially, brandishing the aforementioned bamboo needle for emphasis. “The pattern called for a 00 knitting needle. It should do the job quite nicely.”

“Crowley...”

“Really angel if you are embarrassed you don't have to sit by me,” interrupted Crowley quite kindly. He glanced at his friend and adversary over the rim of his sunglasses and smiled. The smile was somewhat sinister however. He couldn't really help that part.

“No! _It's Hastur_!” repeated Aziraphale, gesturing emphatically in the other direction.

Crowley turned to see the Duke of Hell standing there looking as if it was his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. Hastur had before him incontrovertible proof that Crowley was “consorting with the enemy.” Or at least knitting with him, which had to be just as bad, if not worse, in his opinion.

“Oh dear,” murmured Crowley, reaching up and pushing the sunglasses further up along his long nose. Next to him, Aziraphale let out a small sound that came across between a whimper and a choke.

Much later, news reports would never quite agree on what happened that afternoon in what most headlines announced as “Chaos Erupts in Hyde Park!” Many blamed obscure anarchists groups. Some blamed unruly uni students. Those who liked to think they were more clever than the rest of the lemmings of society blamed the shadowy underground world government that always hand their hands in these sorts of things. One old man swore that it was a battle between the actual powers and principalities of heaven and hell, but no one paid him any mind.

Crowley liked to take credit for the confusion and panic that spread like wildfire, causing mass hysteria and near riots in the surrounding vicinity of Hyde Park. After all, it seemed like the sort of hellish thing to take credit for and would inevitably earn him points downstairs. Aziraphale liked taking credit for the fact that miraculously no one was hurt (as long as you don't count the child with the scraped knee and Aziraphale _swore_ that kid fell before everything went down). Hastur didn't take credit for anything at all because it all seemed so hazy and had he even been in Hyde Park that day (though the lump on his head testified that he probably had been)?

Much later, once the madness had died down and a dazed and confused Duke of Hell found himself in the care of nurses who were having none of his babyish insolence, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves back in the latter's apartment. The angel had a bag of frozen peas placed against his swelling cheek bone and the demon was contentedly binding off the last row of his knitting.

“Really, dear heart, you must be more careful,” chided the angel as he fussily rearranged the peas against his face. “I had everything completely under control until you clocked me upside the head in your zeal.”

“A thousand apologiesssss, angel,” lisped the demon as he wove in the ends of the knitting and held it out with a satisfied smile. “I already told you that it was an accident. But I do have to say, I was quite right....”

“About what?” pouted Aziraphale, sulkily eyeing the demon over the rims of his glasses.

Crowley slid across the couch over to the angel and wrapped the thick, cream-colored wool scarf around Aziraphale's neck. “You _do_ look adorable in the scarf I made you.”

The angel's cheeks turned pink.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. I am almost embarrassed to post this because it is so dorky. Apparently, I shouldn't knit while on cold meds because it makes me come up with stupid fanfic ideas. Also, I'm not British, so I had to look up the British chart of needle sizes, so I might have gotten it wrong?


End file.
